Light At the End of the Tunnel
by tiswillard
Summary: Doug's grievance after Tom is hit by a car and falls into a coma. Stupid summaries.
1. Please Wake Up

**A/N: SLASHHHHHH. Um, my friend gave me the idea for this. It was originally supposed to be a oneshot, but I got some great plot ideas, from a numerous list of people. Uh, it's kind of dark, so I wouldn't read it if you want to stay away from that sort of thing. Um, anyway. Because it took me so long to write anything (SIX DAYS! WOW! SO LONG!) I thought it only fair to let you know that it was my birthday (I turned thirteen! lol) so I was rather busy. And you know what I bought? Season 2! (of 21 Jump Street, numb nuts!)**

_"TOM, WAIT!!" Doug screamed, watching the car screech out from it's temporary parking spot in the ditch. Tom didn't hear Doug, and darted out before the speeding car. Doug wanted to help him, but how could he help Tom, who was now in the clear path of a speeding car? Oh God, there were so many ways; if only they all hadn't escaped Doug's mind at the moment._

_The scenario played out before him, in slow motion and the most vivid of colours. Tom had seen him; Tom had seen the suspect. Tom had seen the supposed murder suspect, Kevin Broadsome. Of course, since Tom was so determined, he had to jump out of the car and chase down the motherfucker. Doug had tried to convince him otherwise, but it hadn't worked. That sort of thing never worked with Tom. At least, not while on a case. Doug could make a compromise at home, but work was a totally different story. Which was why Doug was cringing as he watched Broadsome turn around, only to see Tom, as Kevin decided to dash to his car. That was not a good sign. Kevin had pulled the car into gear, and now he was driving directly towards Tom. Tom was too busy running towards the squad car that Doug was climbing out of in order to warn his partner, best friend, and boyfriend. Oh God._

_Before Doug knew it, Tom was lying on the ground. There had been no screech. Hell, Kevin Broadsome didn't seem to be too fazed by the fact he had just knocked a police officer unconscious by hitting him with his car. Doug, on the other hand, was extremely fazed by this. Although his legs were shaking as he ran towards Tom, he knew he had to get to him. He physically couldn't do this, as the result of shock towards the incident. But Doug had to get to him. Doug had to get to him now. So mentally, Doug could do this. And it was the only thing that actually got him to do it in the long-run._

_As he stumbled over to the unconscious body of his boyfriend. His knees collapsed, and Doug instinctively had Tom propped up in his lap. All training for CPR and rescue breathing escaped him. So much for enrolling in the academy, if he couldn't remember how to save his partner. The only thing Doug could do right now to help Tom was to hold him, to hold him and hope he would get better. Of course, that didn't seem likely. What Doug probably should have been doing was calling an ambulance. But he couldn't stand up. He most definitely couldn't just leave Tom in the middle of the road like this, either._

_Someone must have taken initiative to calling an ambulance anyway. Doug appreciated it, but he hated seeing Tom being loaded onto a stretcher. This was not Doug's idea of a good day. No, not a good day at all when Doug had to watch Tom being loaded into an ambulance by the aid of a stretcher and several paramedics. Doug had to shut his eyes for a moment, just so he could keep his sanity. He tried to convince himself that this wasn't happening-- but it was. It was happening a whole hell of a lot, and it even hurt a whole hell of a lot more. Doug sprinted towards the ambulance as the doors slammed shut. He swung the door open with the intensity of a mad-man, and stared at his boyfriend. Doug didn't like seeing his boyfriend like this. He fought to tear his eyes away from the helpless body of Tom._

_"Sir, we're going to have to ask you to leave," a female paramedic said from somewhere inside of the ambulance. "Only family members are allowed into the ambulance."_

_"I'm-- I'm," Doug thought fast. It was mandatory for him to ride to the hospital with Tom. He could tell them that he was Tom's boyfriend, which was truth, but who knew what kind of prejudice that these people held against gay people? Besides, it couldn't be said whether or not he would actually be let inthe ambulance, regardless of the fact that Tom was his boyfriend. There was no telling whether or not they would take pity on him and let him ride in the ambulance anyway. But nothing could go wrong with a real family member, right? "I'm his brother."_

_"In that case," the woman hesitated. "Jump on in. We need to get him to the hospital immediately."_

Doug woke abruptly. He kept having the same nightmare over and over and over again. He hated this hospital. He hated that his dream had actually happened. He hated the fact that he had spent the last few days next to Tom, who was laying lifelessly in a hospital bed. Doug hated the fact that Tom was in a coma. Doug hated the fact that that meant there was a chance that Tom would never wake up.

Most of all, Doug hated himself for not being able to properly warn his boyfriend of the danger that he was walking into when he took that step towards the squad car. Even more, he hated that fucking Kevin Broadsome, who had caused Doug all of this pain. As for Tom, who knew whether or not he was feeling pain? He was a cop laying a hospital, perfectly unaware of Doug sitting beside his bedside at all time, waiting for Tom to wake up from his goddamn coma.

"Tommy..." Doug whispered, reaching out and brushing a piece of stray hair out of Tom's perfectly still face. Doug wanted so badly for it to move. Matter of fact, that was all that Doug really wanted out of his boyfriend right now. It would reassure him that there was hope. "Tommy, wake up."

For the first time since he had sat beside Tom, Doug felt a tear run down his cheek. Now, Doug rarely cried. Ever. Even when it came to Tom, Doug was still aware that he was a man, and he shouldn't cry. Tom, on the other hand, was much more carefree about his crying. But Tom was in a coma, so what did it matter?

Wiping his tear away, Doug looked at the floor. He couldn't cry. Actually, he wouldn't cry. Breathing sharply, he looked at his boyfriend, but before he knew it, the tears were falling again. Resting his head in his hands, he thought about how useless this was. The crying, of course. He sat at Tom's bedside for as long as he could every day, in spite of the fact that he'd been in the coma for two weeks now. Sure, he still went to work, but Fuller knew not to put him on a case. He'd blow his cover before he even stepped foot inside of any school. Right now, Doug's top priority was the disabled, unresponsive Tom. The Tom who probably would never wake up.

"Oh God, Tommy," Doug said out loud once more. This time, his voice was quieter than when he had initially whispered to Tom. His voice cracked; another tear ran down his face. "_Why_ did you have to do this? Now or ever? Just wake up already, you stupid... little... perfect-thing-you-are. Just wake up already and come to work with me, and-- and I'll get Fuller to put us on a McQuaid case. Yea, yea, that sounds amazing. McQuaid cases are fun, right Tommy? And there won't be... any...homicidal maniacs named Kevin Broadsome. No, you'll be the only one who killed anybody and that's because-- because you'll be Tommy McQuaid, man." Doug looked at him again. He was silent for a moment, managing to wipe away the tears from under his eyes. He reached forward and kissed Tom on the lips; something he'd managed to keep from doing for the past two weeks. He was supposed to be Tom's brother, and-- well, honestly-- brothers didn't do anything like that. "_Please_ wake up?"

Tom didn't do anything. Tom never did anything. Not for the past two weeks, anyway. Doug stood up, his blood-shot eyes watching Tommy, in hopes that maybe he would do anything. No, nothing. Never anything. He should have expected it. But as usual, he was brought down a little, although Doug had found nothing much at all had made him too happy these days. Sure, there could be moments when he could forget, but it took a long time.

Doug honestly didn't know why he kept coming to the hospital, anyway. It just made him even more depressed. Sure, he was spending 'quality' time with Tommy, if you will. But it wasn't good time.

Good time was when Tommy was awake to witness it.


	2. Missing You

**A/N: I'm liking this story and all of it's dark-ish-ness goodness, although Doug doesn't really handle it **_**all**_** that badly when he's around other people, as displayed here. By the way, have you noticed that the McQuaid brothers always seem to be able to make it into my stories?**

"Have you seen Penhall yet, Ioki?" Judy asked, leaning against Harry's desk. "He's usually here by this time."

"Stop worrying about him," Ioki remarked, not looking up from the report he was filling out. Judy rolled her eyes at Harry and all of his lack of sensitivity. "Besides, it's not like there's much he can do here. Desk duty twenty-four-seven, no possibility of Fuller even _thinking_ about putting him on a case. He may as well be suspended."

"Suspended with some pretty crappy side-effects," Judy sighed. "Have you taken a look at him lately? I'm worried about him."

"Well, Tom's in a coma. I'd be worried if he wasn't acting the way he is," Harry said, still not having looked up at Judy. "Just leave him be, he's getting along great."

"You call the way he's getting along 'great', Harry?!" Judy said, a little too loudly, turning a few heads. Judy waited for everyone to return to their work before she resumed her own lecture. "He's _not,_ Harry. Aren't you worried about him at all? He's acting so strange lately, and you just sit there like nothing happened. Are you even worried about Hanson?"

"Yes! I'm worried, 'kay?!" Harry said, leaning back in his chair to look up at Judy. "Just not as publically as you and Penhall are. Besides, Penhall's always been a little weird."

"I heard that!"

"When did you get here?" Judy asked, spinning around to meet the eyes of Doug.

"I've been here," he shrugged.

"No you haven't!" Judy crossed her arms, glaring at Doug. "Seriously, when did you get here?"

"Just now," Doug whispered. "Don't tell Fuller, though. He'll have a hissy-fit."

"Didn't even notice you weren't here," Harry said, his head once again buried in whatever it was he was looking at-- a report, or something or another.

"Thanks, Iok," Doug smiled, turning to go to his own desk. "Glad to know none of you guys even worry about me. None except for Jude, 'course. Should've expeceted that though. Don't know why I didn't."

Judy had followed him to his desk. "Where you been all morning, Penhall?"

"With Tommy," Doug replied without hesitation, he opened a desk drawer. He pulled out a yo-yo, and began to mindlessly play with it, although most of his idea of playing with a yo-yo consisted of, first of all, trying to un-knot the string. That would have been very helpful. "Where've _you_ been all morning, Jude?"

"Right here," Judy said, disappointedly. She fought the urge to grab the yo-yo from Penhall's hands. "Why do you come here when there's nothing for you to do, Penhall?" Doug shrugged. "Why don't you just stay with Tommy all day, if that's what you want to do?"

"The nurses get mad at me," Doug said. "If they knew I was his boyfriend, no big deal. But they think I'm his brother. Apparently, it's not healthy for a brother to spend that time with another brother. So they tell me to leave and get on with my life. I tell them that I'm getting on with my life, there in the hospital, there with Tommy. They tell me I'm just being stupid."

"Tell him you're the McQuaids. McQuaids do stuff like that," Judy shrugged.

"They know his name is Tom Hanson," Doug shrugged, although he couldn't help but roll his eyes a little.

"Fine. You're Doug Hanson, you and Tom in a McQuaid-like sort of situation. Doesn't that make sense to you?" Judy shrugged. She didn't know why she was pushing Doug to go stay at the hospital longer every day, but shewas sure he would like it better than sitting at work, doing nothing all day. Even if it did make him that much more depressed, he had Tom. In a sense, that could make him... happier than he was at moment, right?

"It doesn't work like that in real life," Doug said, disappointedly. He stopped playing with his yo-yo.

"Alright, Doug," Judy said. "Be depressed. But do you want to grab something to eat after work?"

"I go and see Tom after work," Doug said.

"Then I'll go see Tom with you," Judy said.

"You'd do that?" Doug asked.

"Sure," Judy smiled. "So we'll go and see Tom at the hospital. We can stay for however long you want, Penhall. And then we can go out to eat. Besides, I haven't visited Tom enough anyway. He's probably missing me."

"Oh yea, he's been complaining and moaning about how bad he misses you in his sleep," Doug joked. "Dream on, Judy. If he's missing anybody at all, it's probably me. Even though I'm usually right there. Next to him. But, you know, he's not awake, so I'm who he's missin'."


	3. Twitch

**A/N: Hah. I did do research from this chapter, and I'm going to have to keep researching for it. Anyway, the ending's really sad. Anyway, I'm really sorry about the short chapters in this story. I don't know why I keep making them so short. In this story, anyway. Whatever. I still like it.**

Judy now felt worse than she had when she was worrying about Doug earlier that morning. She thought that this would have made her feel better, but it was doing just the opposite. Sure, Doug seemed less on edge than he did the rest of the time (the rest of the time being when he was at work). He could actually watch Tom and make sure nothing happened to him, but Judy could see that even that was hurting him. Now, that might have been what was making Judy feel so guilty at the moment. It might have also been the fact that she was watching Doug sit beside the hospital bed. At first, he'd just stood there and stared at Tom. Eventually, he'd dragged a chair closer to the bed and took Tom's hand in his two own, before he just absentmindedly stared at the bed, almost completely ignoring the existence of Tom actually being there. Which he'd been doing now for about ten minutes.

But could it also be the fact that Judy had so far neglected to come see Tom? Sure, she had once come to see him, when everyone else at Jump Street had dragged their asses down here to see if Tom was alright. But, somehow, Judy had neglected to appear here on her own time. But Doug on the other hand, Doug had sat here for almost the entirety of the last two weeks. Talk about commitment. It was actually becoming pitiful.

Doug's mind was blank. He wanted to cry, since he'd finally been able to come to terms with the fact that he was actually _able _to cry, since he'd never been aware he could do it since he was a little kid. But now that he knew he could, he didn't want to. It was only because of Judy, but he didn't want to just tell her to leave. She _had _come with him, and that was the most compassion anyone had yet showed Doug. The nurses were just sour with him, and they had been within five minutes of Doug sitting at Tom's bedside every day.

But Judy had come with him. Judy hadn't said anything, of course; nothing to make him feel better, nothing to make him feel worse. The fact that she was just standing there in the same room, her watching him watch Tom was enough for Doug, though. He didn't know what exactly it was that made him feel so safe, but it did. Usually, he hated people watching him. Everyone except Tom. But Tom's eyes were closed and he couldn't look at Doug. So Judy would have to do for the time being.

"Judy... did you see that?" Doug asked suddenly, his eyes glued to Tom's unopened eyelids.

"Did I see what?" Judy asked, looking from Tom to Doug. Doug beckoned Judy over with his hand, and pointed to Tom's eyes. "What about his eyes?"

"They twitched," Doug said simply.

"Open?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Couldn't be any more sure about it," Doug emphasized. "Just watch, I bet he'll do it again." The only problem was that Tom _didn't _do it again, and this was obviously upsetting to Doug. Judy and Doug must have stood there for at least ten minutes, every now and then Doug would swear Tom was about to open his eyes for a moment again, but nothing happened. Judy held her hand on Doug's shoulder, in order to comfort him. "I don't know... I swore... yea, he opened his eyes-- why isn't he?" Doug obviously was wordless. He wanted so badly for Tom to just wake up already.

"I believe you, Penhall," Judy said, walking to the other side of the hospital bed. "But right now, let's go. We're still going out to eat." She couldn't just let Doug sit there, could she? She had to get him out of there, or do anything in general to get his mind off of Tom.

"I'm not going out anymore," Doug said stubbornly, his eyes still glued to Tom. Judy put her hands on her hips; she knew she should have expected this. Somehow, she had managed to over-estimate what Doug Penhall would and wouldn't do. She did that quite a lot, especially when it came to the matter of Tom.

"Come on, Doug," Judy sighed. Visiting hours would be over soon, anyway. Why did it even matter? Oh, well it mattered simply because Doug was her friend and she actually did care about whether or not Doug was okay. It wasn't like Tom could watch out for him, anyway. "You promised me."

"I never promised you," Doug grumbled. He really didn't want to leave Tom right now; not at all. Not after he'd just moved-- or twitched, more like. Still, that was a sign of movement. He'd spent so long praying for Tom to just respond to something he did, just to let him know that somewhere, down in dreamland or wherever he was, he was okay. Sure, an eye twitching open for even a moment was not 'responding', but it was still movement. It was still hope.

"Might as well have," Judy replied. "Now come on. Tom'll still be in the morning."

"That's what worries me," Doug said, looking up at Judy. Her facial expression softened, as she urged Doug to elaborate. "It's just, you know. I've never known someone who's been in a coma before. And it's weird, like, I feel obligated to sit here every moment of every day, and just hope he gets better. I mean, he could die before he ever wakes up, or he could actually wake up. Even if he does wake up, the doctor can't say whether or not he'll still be... Tom. I mean, will he be different, and if he is, how different? You know, I just want to be sure that when-- _if--_ Tommy wakes back up, that it'll be the old Tommy. 'Cause, you know, everyone else who's... meant this much to me in my life, they either changed too much, like they weren't them anymore, or died. I don't want Tommy to be on that list." Doug leaned forward, so his elbows rested on the bed. His head was resting in his hands, but his face was looking too far down for Judy to see whether or not he was crying. Not that Judy wanted to see Doug cry; Doug never cried. But there was a tear there, dripping off of his nose. Yeah, Doug Penhall was crying.


	4. Hey Jude

**A/N: Okay, well, this next chapter was kind of just a comic relief in the story. It's kind of going to need it, seeing as this is, I think, the only story I have sat down to, almost knowing exactly every little bit of what's going to happen. So it needed this. As usual, it's a short chapter and I have no idea why. It makes me feel bad, but we're all going to have to learn to deal with it.**

**Disclaimer: I always figured it might be common sense that Willow (me) doesn't own 21 Jump Street. I figured this might be common sense too, but I don't own 'Hey Jude' or 'Bohemian Rhapsody'. It was just, the 'Hey Jude' thing was too funny to pass up, and I'm too much of a hardcore Queen fan too miss a chance of mentioning them in a story.**

Judy was not sure how she managed to get Doug here. Honest to God, she wasn't sure if she even _was _here. For all she knew, she was just still sitting in the hospital, sitting next to Doug, imagining all of this. Then again, she wasn't sure if she had this good of an imagination-- even as a kid. Even back then, she had a pretty wild imagination, and it had (for the most part) stuck with her. Then again, Tom had told Judy on numerous occasions what a wild drunk Doug was-- whether or not that had a double meaning, Judy didn't know, and that was not the point she was claiming evidence to. Oh, yes, this definitely was proof to what Tom had been saying, but not to the original double meaning that originally had come to mind.

It's not like it was _that_ outrageous, it was just that Judy would have never expected to see Doug so carefree after what she had just see with Doug at the hospital. She'd begged for him for a few more minutes, before Doug finally said he would go, but only if that place served alcohol. In all truth, Judy didn't think that sounded too good, but it got Doug out of the hospital. Judy supposed that was the best she could do for him.

About ten beers and three baskets of of seasoned french fries ago, Doug had been a completely different person. He had been sulking at the table, barely even managing to make eye contact with Judy. She had sat there patiently, waiting for Doug to actually look up at her. There had been a point where she had actually lost all hope of ever looking Doug in the eyes ever again. But after a few beers, Doug had lightened up and become the old Doug-- the one she knew before Tom had landed himself in a coma. He began telling stupid jokes that made no sense at all, most of which were perverted and twice as bad as the ones he would tell when he was being himself, and not being depressed because his boyfriend was stuck in a coma.

"Wanna hear a dumb blonde joke, Juuuuuuuuude?" Doug asked, playing with his bottle of beer. He was laughing already. Apparently, this joke must have been really funny. To his state of mind, anyway.

"No, not really," Judy said, picking up her half-empty glass of wine that she'd been working on ever since Doug's ten and a half beers and three baskets of seasoned french fries ago. She looked at Doug through the liquid, before taking a small sip. "I never really liked blonde jokes."

"Well, come on, Juuuuuuuude," Doug said, still immaturely dragging out the vowel in Judy's nickname. Judy rubbed her temples; she was beginning to develop a headache. How long did Doug have to keep telling her jokes she didn't want to hear? Actually, she subconsciously knew that the answer was until whenever Doug was sober or asleep. She just didn't exactly want to come to terms with that. "It's real funny."

"I'm sure it is," Judy claimed in a monotone. Actually, the only thing she was sure of was that it probably wasn't. It might have been slightly funny-- when Doug was actually functional. But not drunk. Drunk had been amusing on Doug at first, but now it was just annoying. She sort of just wanted Doug to shut up, actually-- and Judy was definitely not that sort of person. "I still don't want to hear it though," Judy said, her voice cracking a little. She looked up at Doug, who was trying his best to make a puppy-dog face and not laugh. Everything seemed to be funny to him. Judy rolled her eyes; Doug busted out laughing.

"_Heyyyyy Juuuuuuude_," Doug began after he had stopped laughing. Judy hadn't even caught onto what he was about to do. Nonetheless, she silently cursed to herself when he broke out into his own rendition of The Beatles' 'Hey Jude'. "_Don't make it badddddddd, take a sad songgggggggggg and make it better-er-er-er. Remember to let 'er into your heart! Then you... you can start to make it better_."

"Doug, my name is Judy--" Judy began, rolling her eyes once more. She was only glad that Doug didn't burst out laughing this time.

"I know that, Jude," Doug nodded, taking a break out of his tone-deaf attempt to sing. "But if you take the 'ee' out of it, you get Jude. And then you can sing 'Hey Jude' by The Beatles to you."

Judy was unamused. "It's a 'Y', not an 'E', Doug."

"I didn't say it was an 'E', Jude. I said it was an 'ee'," Doug said seriously. Judy still did not understand what Doug was trying to say here.

"Doug, it's the same thing."

"No it's not. You said 'E' and I said 'ee'," Doug nodded, downing the rest of his beer. "There is a very, very, v_ery_ big difference."

"There is no difference between 'E' and... 'E', Penhall," Judy said, crossing her arms over her chest. "Are you high or something?"

"No, just drunk," Doug giggled. Judy closed her eyes for a moment, rubbing her hand on her forehead. She needed to get Doug home-- soon. Unfortunately, she didn't trust him by himself, especially so drunk, especially given the mental breakdown she had witnessed two hours earlier. Flagging the waiter over, she paid the bill for the eleven some beers, three baskets of seasoned french fries, and one glass of wine. Doug found it necessary to begin singing again.

"_Heyyyyyy Juuuuuuuude, don't be afraaaaid. You were made tooooooo go out and get hurrrrt! The minute you let 'er under your skin! Then you beginnnnn to make it betterrrrrr!_" Doug, apparently hadn't known any words after this verse, seeing as this was about his sixth consecutive time singing it. By the time Judy had, with much trouble and praying that she wouldn't collapse under his body weight, managed to, in fact, throw Doug's arm over her shoulders and guide him out of the restaurant, Doug had gone into a verse of nonsense. "So... anytime something about pain... na-na... refrain! _Don't carry the world up on your shouldersssss_! Something something, never could understand this part of the song an-ee-wayyyyyyyy. Nah nah nah-nah, nah nah nahhhhh nahhhhh... _HEEEEEEY JUUUUUDE! DON'T LET ME DOWN!_ I REALLY DON'T KNOW THE WORDSSSSSS!"

Judy's ears hurt. Doug had finally lost interest in singing her a heart-felt version of 'Hey Jude', in spite of the fact he knew very little of the words. Yea, Judy was absolutely _touched._ Not really. She was only glad she had somehow managed to empty him into the passenger seat of her car. Almost sweating, she half-collapsed into her own seat. Sticking the key into the ignition, the radio started up--

_"Mama, just killed a--"_

Judy's hand shot out and turned off the radio. Sighing in defeat, she put the car's gear into reverse and started backing out of her parking space. She really did not need Doug's rendition of Queen's 'Bohemian Rhapsody' right now. 'Hey Jude' had been enough.

**Let us reiterate. 'Hey Jude' as written by Paul McCartney and Doug Penhall:**

_**Heyyyyy Juuuuuuude, Don't make it badddddddd, take a sad songgggggggggg and make it better-er-er-er. Remember to let 'er into your heart! Then you... you can start to make it better. Heyyyyyy Juuuuuuuude, don't be afraaaaid. You were made tooooooo go out and get hurrrrt! The minute you let 'er under your skin! Then you beginnnnn to make it betterrrrrr!**_** So... anytime something about pain... na-na... refrain! **_**Don't carry the world up on your shouldersssss**_**! Something something, never could understand this part of the song an-ee-wayyyyyyyy. Nah nah nah-nah, nah nah nahhhhh nahhhhh... **_**HEEEEEEY JUUUUUDE! DON'T LET ME DOWN!**_** I REALLY DON'T KNOW THE WORDSSSSSS!**

Unfortunately, seeing as Doug Penhall is actually a fictional character in both the 21 Jump Street TV series and this fan fiction you just happen to be reading, this rendition of 'Hey Jude' was actually written by Willow, the author of the story, when she was writing her interpretation of what Doug Penhall would be like if he were piss-drunk.


	5. Can't Be Happening

**A/N: The whole dreaming idea inspiration came from myself. When my mom first died, I kept having these weird dreams where I would be talking to my mom and I would finally say "Mom... not to be rude or anything, but didn't you just die?" and she would totally disregard the question. Anyway, this chapter made me drool. Oh, and I dragged Booker in because I usually neglect him-- because, in all honesty, I hate him. And you don't have to use him. But I figured I was going to have to use him sooner or later, so why not now? Oh, and by the way... JOHNNY DEPP DIDN'T GET MARRIED!! SADLKGHFDSLVGKJSDCKLDNSAVKJSHGFKDS YAYYYYYY! Thank you to Mr. IMDB, I just learned this a few days ago. Hah. I was killing myself over it, too.**

_"Pleeeeeaaaaase, Doug?" Tom asked, bowing his head to look down at Doug, who was still laying on his back in bed. The sheet was wrapped tightly around his waist, and Tom was standing similarly, only the thing wrapped around his waist was a towel._

_"First of all, make your hair stop dripping on me," Doug said, reaching above him to carelessly pull a lock of Tom's hair. "Water's cold, if you didn't already know that. Second of all, I'm not gonna go grocery shopping with you. This is our day off, and shopping was not what I planned to do with it." Doug couldn't help but raise an eyebrow with his last remark._

_"Oh?" Tom asked, holding the towel as he crouched down next to the bed and put his chin on the edge, widening his eyes. "Well, that's not what I planned to do with our day off, Doug. We're going to go shopping. And then, _maybe,_ just _maybe _we can come back home and do whatever it was that you actually were planning to do with this wonderful day off, Doug."_

_"Well then you can go grocery shopping by yourself, Tommy," Doug said, grabbing Tom's hand that was holding onto the edge of the matress. "I'll just wait for you to get back, and then we can do those things I planned for us to do." Tom shot Doug a disapproving look, and Doug pouted both of his lips._

_"But I don't want to spend the day without you," Tom said, lifting himself to the side of the bed, where he sat down next to Doug's stomach. Tom bit his lip, staring into Doug's eyes. "Matter of fact, if you don't come grocery shopping with me, there will be no fun when we-- I get back."_

_Doug contemplated the idea of actually going with Tom for a moment. Sure, Doug hated shopping-- especially when it was with the obsessive compulsive Tommy here, but maybe he should go. Doug sat up, his arm brushing against Tom's back. Looking over Tom's shoulder, Doug looked down at the ground, his eye catching on the small part of upper thigh that the towel had forgotten to cover. Yeah, Doug should definitely be going grocery shopping with Tom. "Fine, I'll go. But I have to take a shower."_

_"Yeah, you do," Tom said smugly, watching Doug climb out of the bed in only his boxers. Doug stuck his middle finger up at Tom and trudged down the hallway to the bathroom._

_Fifteen minutes later, Doug pushed forward the knob, therefore ending the stream of hot water that was beating against the back of his head. Stepping out from behind the shower curtain, he couldn't help but be slightly taken aback at the fact that Tom was standing in front of the mirror with his shirt off and pants only zippered-- apparently, Tom had forgotten the function of the button. After wrapping a towel around his waist, Doug watched Tom brush his teeth, aware that Tom was watching him out of the corner of his eye._

_"How'd you get in here without me noticing?" Doug asked, stepping around Tom and reaching inside of the medicine cabinet to find a comb. Tom moved aside to keep an eye on himself in the mirror._

_"You leff the door open," Tom said, words muffled by the toothpaste and toothbrush in his mouth. Doug closed the medicine cabinet, not having found a comb. He leaned against the wall, running his hand through his hair. Damnit, always when he needed one too._

_"No I didn't," Doug claimed, shaking his head. "And do you know where a comb is?"_

_"Well, the door was swung closed, I guess. It wasn't exactly 'shut', if you know what I mean," Tom said, leaning over the sink to spit out the toothpaste. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Tom stood up to look back at Doug while reaching for a paper cup to fill with water. "Yea, I gotta comb you could use."_

_"So where is it?" Doug asked while Tom turned off the tap in the sink, lifting the paper cup to his lips. After a moment of listening to Tom gargle, Doug watched Tom spit out the water and throw away the paper cup._

_"Here," Tom said, running his hands through Doug's hair playfully, and pulling his hand towards their bedroom. Doug held the towel around his waist, closely following Tom to his bedside table in their bedroom. "I want to comb your hair, Doug," Tom said, after digging through the drawer for a moment. Doug stared at him, Tom having turned around by this time._

_"What?" Doug asked, while Tom pushed him onto the bed._

_"I want to comb your hair-- cross your legs," Tom told Doug as he climbed behind Doug,straddling his legs around Doug._

_"What are you doing, Tom?" Doug asked while the comb sank into his hair._

_"Combing your hair," Tom replied casually, as if he did this every day. After a moment of silence, Tom wrapped his arms around Doug, trying to pull Doug closer to him. "You're too far away, Doug."_

_Doug readjusted, the towel being pulled clear out from under him. Doug frowned at it and placed it over his lap. "I see--feel that, captain obvious," Doug said, turning his head as far as he could, so he was attempting to stare Tom in the eyes. "But _why _are you combing my hair for me? I'm perfectly capable of doing myself."_

_"I know that," Tom said, dropping his hand that held the comb, the other hand on Doug's left shoulder. "But today I felt like combing your hair, so I decided to do it."_

_"You're cute, Tommy," Doug said, turning his body so he was completely facing Tom. Leaning forward, Doug kissed Tom on the lips._

_"Thank you, Doug," Tom said, apparently forgetting about the comb as his right arm hugged Doug's lower back, leaning into another kiss. There was a mumble, as Doug incoherently muttered 'You're welcome' albeit his lip-lock with Tom. Doug's right hand reached for Tom's still slightly damp hair, as his left hand pushed Tom against the bed. In the rush of lips molding against the other, teeth clashing, and tongue's exploring the other's mouth, the comb was forgotten, and the towel that Doug had used to cover himself had been thrown aside. Tom's and Doug's legs attempting to intertwine with a mess of the other's legs and bedsheets at the bottom of the bed._

_"Tom," Doug found himself saying after they had calmed down, Tom now laying with his head rested on Doug's shoulder. Tom readjusted his body, so his cheek was now dug into his shoulder, as he resumed playing with Doug's hair. Only, this time, Tom had no comb. "Tom, how can this be happening? You're... in a hospital bed... in a coma... and, you know. This can't be happening."_

_"You're still going grocery shopping with me," Tom grinned, ignoring what Doug had said. _

_"What?" Doug asked, lifting himself up on his forearms. "Tom, that's not what I said."_

_"You promised!" Tom said, following suit and sitting up with Doug. Tom sat Indian style, his knee digging into Doug's stomach. "That's why you went to go take a shower. _So,_ you have to go grocery shopping with me."_

_"_Tom!_" Doug said, exasperated. "That's not what I asked you!"_

Doug's eyes burst open. Those stupid dreams... he'd been having them consecutively ever since the accident. The worst part about it was that it was always different. There was one where Tom had managed to get Doug to go to a bowling alley. There had been a few where they had actually been on a case. There had been really odd ones that would never exist anywhere except for dream-land. The worst part about it was that they would always end the same way-- Doug realizing that this couldn't be happening because Tom was in a coma, in the hospital. And he'd ask him how this was happening, and Tom would just keep ignoring it, and talking about other things...

Doug's head hurt. This couch was lumpy. Whose couch was this anyway? Thinking back, he remembered last night-- but barely. Something about spilling his heart out to Judy at the hospital, getting drunk, and then something about a Beatles' song. But after that, everything was a blur. Doug could only hope he hadn't done anything to permanently wreck his reputation-- by the feeling of his head, he must have drank rather heavily last night.

What time was it? Doug looked around the room for a while, his motion blurred. Damnit-- he knew there was a clock in the kitchen. Then again, he couldn't exactly remember where the kitchen was in his state of mind. Standing up, he walked around aimlessly until he actually did end up finding the kitchen. Squinting at the clock on the microwave clock--

"Ten forty five?!" Doug couldn't help but say out loud. "Shit, shit, shit..." Looking around the room frantically, Doug finally found a phone. Punching in the number for the chapel, Doug messed up at least four times before he punched in the right number and was able to successfully bring the phone to his ear. The phone was answered half-way through it's second ring.

"Bookerrrrrr." He sounded far too happy than he should have.

"Can I talk to Judy?" Doug asked, trying to sound composed.

"Depends," Booker said. "Who is this?"

"Penhall."

"Why do you want to talk to Judy?"

"I just do."

"Why's that?"

"_Booker!_" Doug didn't feel like standing up for anyone's shit at the moment-- especially Dennis Booker's.

"Alright!" Booker said, though Doug could sense, even through the phone, that Booker was amused. "Hoffs! Line two."

After ten seconds of silence, Judy picked up the phone. "Hoffs."

"Helloooooo, Judy," Doug said, now not exactly sure why he had called. Something about being late to work, although he was now sure that Judy had somehow taken care of that for him.

"You're awake, then?"

"Mmhmm," Doug mumbled into the phone.

"A'right, I talked Fuller into giving you the day off, so that's all good. Um, other than that, you can stay at my house for as long as you need to-- uh, your motorcycle is still over here, so I guess I can run home really fast over lunch break, and then bring you back so you can pick it up. Uh, anything else?" Judy asked.

"Uh, no-- not really," Doug said, thinking for a moment. "Listen, did I, uh, do anything stupid last night?"

"Aside from singing me your very own rendition of 'Hey Jude'? No, not really," Judy said, adding a laugh.

"Oh," Doug sighed, glad that they hadn't done anything much worse than that. "Sorry 'bout that."

"Eh, it's fine. I thought it was kind of funny, actually," Judy claimed, although Doug wasn't entirely sure that she was telling him the truth. Oh well-- at least she was saying it with his well-being in mind, he decided.

"Alright then," Doug said. "Oh-- and Judy, uhm, thank you." The last part was kind of quiet and rushed.

"For what?"

"For, uh, listenin' to me. When we were, uhm, at the hospital, y'know?" Doug said, not entirely sure if he should be doing this.

"Oh, yea," Judy said. "You're welcome. Any time, Penhall."

"Okay," Doug sighed. "I'mma go now. I'll see you later?"

"Sure thing."

"Alright. Bye."

"See you later, Penhall."


	6. VS

**A/N: Research pays off, but not when you forget to bookmark the page where you found the information. This is becoming far more complicated than I expected, mostly because I'm a perfectionist. If anyone knows ungodly amounts about a coma, I would really appreciate the help. God, and sorry about these short chapters and the recent shortage of updates. It's not like I've been busy, but there was the week at my stepdads, and my internet went out for a couple of days, and I discovered that I actually can't write anything worth reading without internet. In good news, I cut my hair, read two books and watched six Johnny Depp movies since my last update.**

It was odd. More odd than it had ever been, that was. Of course, there had always been this nagging sense off oddity as Doug had spent his afternoons sitting beside his lover, who was irrevocably decided to never be waking up. In Doug's mind, anyway. But now it was even more strange, for some unknown reason. He sat beside the bed, half inclined to just climb under the light hospital sheets beside Tom and drift into sleep with him. The only thing that changed his mind was the fact that brothers _didn't _do that. That and the half-full of bag of tiny chocolate chip cookies that he had bought from a vending machine down the hall-- Doug hadn't been able to bring himself to eat anything at Judy's house. It seemed like he was just stealing from her, although it was mostly from the guilt of forcing her to put up with him the night before.

Speaking of Judy, maybe that was it. Maybe that's what had made this feel so strange. Doug had never come to terms with his honest feelings until he had told Judy about them the day before. Now that she wasn't there to let him talk about all of his feelings, he felt alone. Sure, he could talk to Tom (and _damn,_ coma made people become much better listeners), but what good would it be? He could tell Tom if he woke up, which apparently wasn't happening according to Doug's conscience. But now, telling Tom all of this just seemed rather pointless.

Doug sat in the chair, his knees dragged up to his chest. The arm holding the bag of his cookies hugged his knees in place. Doug was too absorbed in his own thoughts to recognize the fact that this was such a feeble stance for a man of his size. Had he been in a normal state of mind, this would have been the most annoying thing running through his mind at the moment. But, of course, that wasn't happening. There were more important things than 'manly sitting stances' that he had to worry about.

Doug was only sure of one thing that was at all happy about the situation with Tom. In spite of his prior mentioned irrevocable decision that Tom was never going to be waking up, he had definitely seen his eyes twitch open in the past two hours. Although each time he was sure it must have been his imagination, his heart beat must have quadrupled. It took every ounce of strength in his body to refrain from jumping up every time he might have imagined seeing Tom's eyes opened for that millisecond. That wouldn't be very manly either. No, it wouldn't be a classified 'manly jumping stance' at all. Then again, considering those few moments where he might have seen Tom's eyes open--

Might have.

"Doug, uh, Hanson?" The name floated around Doug's head for a moment, as he momentarily forgot that everyone in the hospital thought that he and Tom were brothers. He didn't know how he was going to explain this one if Tom ever woke up. Because he might, in spite of that irrevocable decision that he wasn't going to. There was about one percent of Doug's mind that believed the 'might be waking up' part. Still, the brother thing was really getting at him. The only time it had really mattered was getting into the ambulance with Tom. Still, he couldn't bring himself to openly show that he was, in fact, Tom's boyfriend-- not anything like Tom's brother, unless they were under the assumed 'McQuaid' identity. Doug had heard enough horror stories about prejudiced doctors banning a male to see his lover (having that love being another man, of course) if he was in the hospital. He didn't need that in his own life-- not with Tom being here in the hospital already. That was quite enough drama for Doug's appetite.

"Yeah?" Doug said, looking up from Tom's angel face, up to a doctor who he was sure he had seen before. He stopped paying attention to who was who on his first day here. It was far too confusing, anyway. In the end, he realized, it wouldn't matter. Then again, he didn't want to think about 'the end'. It made the whole situation seem even more depressing, even if Tom was already decidedly not going to wake up.

"Uh, we have good news about your brother," the doctor said. "It's gonna be, um, a little difficult to explain. I'll try to skip over all the medical mumbo jumbo and make it easier to understand."

"Good news?" Doug clarified, straightening his posture. The doctor nodded, as Doug stared into his eyes, urging him to continue.

"Your brother has reached a Vegetative State, otherwise known as VS," the doctor hesitated. Doug furrowed his eyebrows; what was he saying? That Tom was never going to wake up ever again? That he was a permanent vegetable, so even if he did wake up, it wouldn't matter? Yeah; great fucking news he had. Funny thing about that was how Doug had been considering the possibility of that happening for the last few hours. As it turned out, it was one thing for Doug to think it to himself, but it was a completely other thing for a _doctor_ to say it out loud. "Basically, it means he's a step towards waking up." Oh. So much for all that silent damnation to hell for this doctor. "Um, this means it won't really seem like he's asleep anymore. Unless he is. Eye opening is normal now, and he's able to produce normal responses to pain will start-- increased heart rate, sweating, increased breathing, y'know. Stuff like that. Respiratory and digestive systems have returned-- uh..."

Doug had barely followed any of that; all he knew was Tom was coming back awake. A thousand questions entered his mind, and he could only bring himself to ask one. "H-how do you know?" he asked, trying to mask his joy.

"Well, it's not medically tested or anything," the doctor said, hesitating. "It's learned over assesments and watching him."

"Okay," Doug said, aware that his voice had just cracked and he should expect himself to break out in joyful tears in any moment. "Thanks." What a sad word for how the euphoria he honestly felt right now. What a sad, sad response.

"You're welcome," the doctor said, offering Doug a sympathetic smile before leaving him alone in the hospital room. Doug kept his eyes on the back of the doctor's head, waiting for him to exit the room.

"You hear that, Tommy?" Doug said in a low voice, leaning closer to Tom's ear. "You're hanging in there, now."

Doug wasn't sure if Tom already knew this already, but he figured it couldn't hurt to remind him. Doug lifted his hand, placing it on Tom's. After a few minutes of blankly staring at his face, Doug picked up Tom's in his hand, mindlessly rubbing circles in Tom's palm with his thumb. Tom's hand was cold, but not as cold as his body usually felt-- recently, that was. As a matter of fact, Doug couldn't help but notice that Tom's skin had actually heated up a few five degrees. Doug leaned forward, softly kissing Tom on the cheek.

So much for that 'irrevocable decision' that Tom was never gonna wake up. "You're gonna make it, aren't you?" Doug whispered. He could almost hear Tom's voice tell him 'Yea, Doug, I'm gonna make it,' in a slightly sarcastic but relieved tone. Doug was slightly surprised when he heard his own low laughter fill the room. It wasn't exactly such an amused laughter as it was a relieved laughter, but _hey,_ it was something. Something was all Doug could really ask for at this point.

Doug ran his hair carelessly through Tom's hair. Who cared if a doctor came in now? _Goddamnit,_ Tom was waking _up_! With that last realization that had taken so long to notice, Tom's eyes opened for another millisecond.


	7. Sharpies and Air Fresheners

**A/N: "Spread the luff, man!" (By the way, it seems like I'm getting uncomfortably far in this story. Does that even make sense? I'm gonna need to seriously get a move on with what I plan to do with it) Oh, and I have no idea what happened here. It all of a sudden got really happy for a few chapters. Oh, but don't worry. Actually, on second thought? Worry. Worry a lot.**

"He's high," Dennis Booker stated, approaching Judy and Harry. The two were already taking their chances in giving Doug Penhall their own worried glances. "No doubt about it."

"You're just inconsiderate, Dennis," Judy said, refusing to take her eyes off of Doug. He had arrived that morning, with the normal Doug Penhall trademark goofball smile plastered to his face. Now, had she not been watching Doug so intently the day before when she had picked him up from her apartment and then taken into consideration his heart-felt speech he had given about Tom the day before that, she wouldn't have been worried about Doug at all. But considering all of that, all of this typical optimism from Doug didn't seem like it belonged. Which was exactly why everyone in the Jump Street program had suddenly decided that they had the day off so they could stare at a certain Doug Penhall. Half-finished reports could almost be heard shouting out petty requests such as 'Finish meeeeeeee!'

"I'm not inconsiderate," Booker insisted, dragging a chair up to Judy's desk. As he straddled the back of the chair, he added, "I'm just right and you don't want to admit it."

"Doug doesn't do drugs," Judy retorted, her eyes still glued to the side of Doug's smiling head, which was bent over some imaginary report he had to do. Well, maybe it was someone else's report. Would Doug Penhall really take it upon himself to finish someone's report? No, not really. Judy couldn't see why he would do such a thing-- but there still were those unfinished reports all over the place that were still requesting 'Finish meeeeeee!'

"He did once," Harry replied casually. "Maybe multiple times, I don't know. Remember that one time, when he ended up taking steroids because of that one case?"

"You're not helping, Ioki," Judy said through gritted teeth, glaring at Harry who was sitting on the corner of her desk.

"Well, you know, I'm not saying that he's on drugs _now_," Ioki told Judy, apparently trying to clear his name in the girl's eyes. "I'm just saying that he's done them _before_."

"Just shut up," Judy commanded him. Before Booker could go into a highly-detailed speech about 'Who knows? Maybe he's highly acquainted with drugs. Big drug addiction in high school or something. Do you consider yourself a Doug Penhall know-it-all, Jude? Because I don't think you should. There's some part of Penhall that we're not savvy to,' Judy spoke. "Fuller told me that he asked to be put on a case after we left for school this morning."

"Doug? Case? _Now?!_" Booker was apparently at a loss for words. "Fuller'd never allow it."

"And why would that be, Dennis?" Judy interrogated with a raised eye brow.

"Becuase he's_ high_," Booker insisted. Judy groaned, but didn't reply. She was afraid of going into further conversation about Doug's possible drug addiction. Although, now that Judy thought about it, the only drug addiction Doug might have had was sucking on a Halls cough drop, and who knew if that was even what he had spent the whole day sucking on? Sure, he'd been spending the whole day eating some sort of hard candy, but it could have been anything. Cough drops were just a possibility. And this conversation about his possible drug abuse was just influencing her state of mind.

"So what did Fuller say?" Ioki asked, seeming genuinely interested in the topic.

"Said he'd think about it," Judy mumbled. She herself couldn't bring herself to figure out whether or not it was time to put Doug on a case-- and she usually had good judgement about those sort of things.

"I think they should put him on a case," Booker said firmly. Judy stared at him but was interrupted before she could begin in her 'But you just said he was high' lecture-- which were much more effective than Booker's speeches. "Even if he is high, you know. Stick him over in a rehab center for minors or something. He'll fit in pretty easily, don'tcha think?"

"Dennis," Judy berated, "this is not a laughing matter. Stop joking around."

"I know that, but--"

"Well, assuming he's not actually high," Ioki had cut of Booker, but the beginning of his statement hadn't seemed too promising. It had actually resulted in a death stare from Judy, "do we-- does anybody have any idea why he's acting this way?"

"No, not really," Judy replied, head in hands. She continued to stare at the preoccupied Doug. Actually, she had a bit of an idea, but it would never bother Booker or Ioki all too much.

"There's really no question about this," Dennis muttered. "Doug's high. End of story."

"If you really believe that he's high, why don't you just go ask him?" Judy said, growing sick of the constant claims that Doug had sunken down so low as to resort to drug addiction. Now, Doug had been known for doing a lot of rather interesting things in his life, but Judy was sure among that list, drug use had never even been considered. Not even when he had been a teenager.

But she hadn't meant that 'go ask him' thing seriously.

She watched Dennis, followed by Ioki, march straight up to Doug. Doug had looked up at them, smiling like the world was never going to end. Judy felt and defeated the impulse to cover her face, finding herself embarrassed for Doug. Instead, she found herself more interested in watching the conversation that was just about to take place.

"You're high," Booker accused rather bluntly. Doug hesitated and stared at his desk for a minute before he finally brought himself to look up at the other officer once more.

"_What?_"

"You're high, right?" Booker replied. "That's why you're acting like this. You totally snorted cocaine or something before you came to work this morning, and now you're high."

"I'm not high, Booker," Doug said calmly, although the smile never left his face.

"Well, you're sure acting like you are," Booker retorted.

"You're stupid, Booker," Doug remarked, turning to Ioki who had yet to say anything. "Do you think I'm high, Ioki?"

"If you're not high, then why are you acting all smiley? This is very out of character, considering some... recent turn of events," Booker cut Ioki off before he had even had a chance to open his mouth.

"Well, Tom--"

"PENHALL! MY OFFICE, NOW!" Fuller yelled from across the room. Both Doug and Booker looked towards the door now.

"He sounds angry," Booker observed. Doug grunted, and made off for Fuller's office without another word. Judy crept up behind Ioki and Booker.

"So, do you still think Doug's high?" Judy asked Booker, an inquisitive eyebrow raised. _She_ knew that nothing Doug was doing had anything to do with drugs-- it was Tom, and only Tom. But there were Booker and Ioki, two men who (just like the rest of them) simply overlooked little statements like that.

"He accidentally inhaled some air freshener stuff or Sharpies or something. That's why he doesn't know it. He's totally high, though," Dennis confirmed. Judy almost laughed. Leave it to men to over look the simple (yet meaningful) statement of "Well, Tom--". Booker hadn't even noticed when Tom's name had popped up in conversation.


	8. The McQuaid Brother

**A/N: This is where that previously distributed warning should start to be taken action upon. Oh yeah, and (still) something about me and the McQuaids. Don't worry. I have a story in mind where I plan **_**not**_** to us them. Bummer, eh?**

"Yea, Coach?" Doug asked, standing firmly over the threshold of the door to Fuller's office. Doug watched the man intently. Well, he sure didn't _look_ angry. But he did _sound_ angry, as Booker was so gracious to point out. Then again, that was Adam Fuller for you. It was probably nothing.

"Sit down, Penhall." The Captain pointed towards a chair that was sitting opposite of his own leather office chair. "And close the door."

Doug pulled the door softly closed behind him, not trying to make too much of a show that this had been the first time he had been called into Fuller's office since just a few days after Tom was hit by the car. Even that had been just to check up on how he was doing. Doug would have suspected that Fuller was about to start on a string of questions about how Doug was pulling through with this, but the mood of the room didn't seem to fit.

"I've been thinking, Penhall," Fuller began as Doug took the seat. There was a pause where the normal Doug Penhall would have said something like 'Thinking about what? How amazing I am and now you're considering giving me a raise?', but no. Even if Doug had been unable to contain his happiness upon Tom's as-of-recent medical update and had stepped into work today with a larger-than-life smile, he still wasn't totally back. He wouldn't be totally back until Tom woke up. "I've been thinking about what you said this morning."

"You mean about me wanting to take a case?" Doug asked, raising an eyebrow. This sort of "PENHALL! MY OFFICE, NOW!" conversation, he could deal with.

"Yea, that," Fuller nodded. There was a short silence. "I think you were right. I've let you slack off too long."

"Well, _that's_ a way to say it-- slacking off, I mean," Doug said. "But you mean it? You're really gonna put me on a case?"

"Yes, I'm really gonna put you on a case," Fuller said, obviously pleased with the amount of optimism he was getting from Doug here. That was one step towards, well, _something_. "But I just wanna make sure again-- do you really think that it's a good time to put you on a case? I mean, Doug--"

"I wanna be put on a case," Doug stated firmly. And he was honest about it, too-- he needed something to do, other than wallow in self pity and... pity for Tom. Then again, he wouldn't spend so much time doing that right now, would he? Tom was waking up. "I'm ready, I swear. You can count on me. I'm in."

"Doug, I haven't even told you what the case is about yet," Fuller said.

"Yeah, but I'm your man for this case," Doug insisted, leaning forward. "Y'see, it's not a case of whether I'm right for this, here, Captain. This is, like, a case of that I'm optimistic, y'know what I mean? This is where being ready comes into play. And I'm ready. So I should play."

"Well, it's not playing," Fuller told him. "It's partying."

"So it's a drug bust?" Doug immediately assumed, although his smile faltered a little. Drugs were just so... normal. He wanted something that he would really stick out in his memory afterwards. And parties usually equalled drugs.

"No." Well, there. That cleared things up. "Unless you can get them on that to increase the charges, but we're not trying to ruin anyone's lives here. These kids are... well, I should start here instead. You read the papers, Doug?"

"Sports section count?"

"Not here," Fuller began. "Well, there've been five teenagers found, within the past five weeks, all of which took a pretty brutal beating. Thing is, they all live in the same general area, same highschool, and they were all supposed to be at parties the night they got beat up."

"Which school?" Doug asked, leaning back in the chair and crossing his arms across his chest.

"Central," Fuller hesitated before continuing his description of the case. "Anyway, all of them except for one. Told her parents she was going to a study session with her best friend. You know how kids are these days, or parents are-- anyway, what I'm going to do is send you into Central. I want you to get close to the main suspects, see if you can get into one of their weekly parties, and see if they might have anything to do with it. You know, if it all works out."

Doug liked the sound of the case, but only one question stood out in his mind. "Anyone dead?"

"What? No," Fuller replied, looking uncomfortable for a moment. "One's, uh, in a coma though." Doug whinced. Was that just pure coincidence, or did Fuller think he'd be more aggressive, given that little detail? "So are you still in?"

"I'm still in," Doug agreed. "I'm going in as...?"

"McQuaid," Fuller answered without skipping a beat. Doug stared at his captain blankly for a moment.

"Fuller, I can't--"

"It'll only give you the more reason to go to these parties and 'beat up innocent kids', Doug. Your brother's-- well, I don't know. Do whatever you want-- say whatever you want about Tom. But if we're onto the right guys, then you'll be in and out of there really fast. Nice and easy case, easy bust, and you'll be on another one-- if you want," Fuller explained. Doug continued to stare at him blankly. Fuller watched Doug to see what he woud do.

"The McQuaid broth_er_," Doug said sarcastically, emphasizing the fact that this noun was singular. He picked up his hands, clapped them three times and said, "heh."

"Glad to see you're worked up about it," Fuller said sarcastically. Doug smiled, in spite of himself. Fuller _did_ have a point. Doug McQuaid would just have to make up some lie about why Tom wasn't there, let the whole school now, and it would be obvious he wanted to kick some ass. Then again, depending on who these kids were, maybe not. "I've got some files for you."

Doug took a centimeter thick manilla folder from Fuller. "Lotta suspects, huh?" Fuller nodded. "So, when do I go in?"

"Monday," Fuller replied. So that gave Doug the whole weekend to go over these files. Good enough. Maybe he'd read them to Tom...

"Thanks, Captain," Doug said earnestly, before standing up to leave. Fuller gave him a small smile.


	9. They Should Know Who I Am

**A/N: You're the one that I wanttttttttt, oooh-oooo-ooooohhhhhh! Hah, Sorry. I'm listening to Grease. And a long-ish, random chapter, to make up for the time I haven't been her. Hoo-hah.**

For the first time ever in his life, Doug McQuaid entered a school without his brother at his side. Doug would have liked to be able to think that it would be the only time, but he had this strange feeling that he'd enter the school alone tomorrow, too. It was odd for him; no one to do the 'McQuaid Brother Salute' with. He felt compelled to do it with the imaginary Tom as his bookless self wandered down the hallway, down to the school office. To everyone else, Doug was just the new kid who looked tough. To Doug, he was the new kid who was once tough but was no longer. Not since his brother had committed suicide, anyway.

Doug had decided Tom _McQuaid_ had committed suicide. Not the truth, of course not. Technically, the McQuaid brothers weren't truth. However, they were what he considered realism and actuality. And Tom wasn't here, and there wasn't any saying when he was coming back-- or whether he was coming back, for that matter. It was almost suicide.

He had considered saying Tommy had been murdered. However, murder was a little _too_ close to coma. Murder was something Doug couldn't say Tom McQuaid _or_ Hanson had been a victim of. Suicide was a much better choice. Something he could deal with. Sort of.

The euphoria caused from what the doctor had told him had obviously not lasted long. It had taken him until about midnight the night before to realize it, when he was restlessly kicking around the sheets in bed. Even after two weeks, it was weird not have Tom in the bed next to him. Then again, most of his nights before that had been spent on the couch. But coming with his realization that the only reason he had been happy after his encounter with Tom's doctor at the hospital was because he thought Tom was going to wake up soon after, the giddy feeling had passed. Instead, an even more inexplicable sorrow had filled him.

Fuller seemed to notice it the second Doug had walked into the chapel this morning. He had stared at Doug for the few minutes he had stopped in to report at the capel, unease obvious. Doug could read it in his captain's face as clear as day; he was suddenly regretting the decision to put Doug on a case. Honestly, Doug didn't blame him. However, he had promised to go into this school. He couldn't turn back now. That and he did suddenly feel the need to bust these kids-- something about _them_ putting another kid in a coma must have done it.

"Yes?" The voice rang in Doug's ears, causing him to flinch. Somehow, his imagination had managed to carry him to somewhere else for the time being. He hadn't even noticed that he'd wandered into the school office. He cleared his throat, tapping nervously on his legs.

"Yeah, I'm Doug McQuaid," he finally managed to choke out. He finally actually got a look at the woman, whose blonde yet greying hair was pulled back in a tight pony tail. Her glasses-- well, somehow the wire-rimmed inch-thick glass that magnetized her eyes something like ten times the amount they should have kind of scared him. After she had stared at him with this hopeless "Why do I care?" look for an extended moment, Doug tried to help her out. "New student."

The woman's face suddenly looked rather relieved that Doug had told him who he was. However, she spoke in a sarcastic tone that tried to hint at her already knowing Doug was a new student. "Oh," she said simply, avoiding eye contact. She looked down at her desk, fingering through a couple of files before pulling out what looked like a schedule and a map. She practically shoved the two pieces of paper in Doug's hand. He didn't take a second look at them, as he was too distracted by the fake smile on the woman's face, as she showed off her yellow teeth.

"Brush your teeth, floss in the morning, mouthwash, _somethin'_," Doug found himself muttering as he exited the school office, taking a look at his schedule. He didn't bother with the subject, just looking for the first classroom. B11, the schedule told him. Anyone else would have nervously glanced at the map to try and figure out where said classroom was, and Doug just found that he would rather walk down the hallways with his hands in his pockets until he found it.

Most people avoided him, he noted, finding it rather amusing. He knew the McQuaid brothers as a pair had potential to be menacing, but never had he figured that a lone McQuaid brother would seem as scary. However, he didn't have too long to dwell on his amusement as the bell rang signifying that it was time for everyone to get to their classes. Doug just yawned, continuing down the empty hallway. Maybe he should just leave now. He could go visit Tom at the hospital. Then he could go back to the Chapel in the afternoon and report that it had been a pretty uneventful afternoon.

Instead, his eyes scanned over the classroom number B11, and he was walking into it before he could give a second thought about it.

A man who really didn't seem to be much older than Doug-- late twenties, maybe even early thirties-- stood at the blackboard, writing down random letters, numbers, and mathematical functions. Doug's head didn't feel like trying to figure out what it meant, so he just stood in the doorway, staring at the slender man whose hair seemed to be already thinning, in spite of his young appearance. So either he was one of those people who started balding really early or he just looked really young.

All the students noticed Doug far before the teacher, who stood at the board writing things for about ten more second before he turned to Doug. His raised eyebrow implied that he was waiting for Doug to introduce himself. Unfortunate for the teacher, Doug didn't feel like introducing himself. He crossed his arms over his chest to show it.

"Who're you?" the teacher asked eventually, putting down his chalk.

"Depends. Who're _you_?" Doug asked, smirking a little. He'd felt like acting like a smart ass to someone for the whole past weekend, he'd only just gotten his chance.

"I asked you first," the teacher pointed out.

"Thanks, captain obvious," Doug smiled sarcastically. "I'm glad that we got that little minor detail out of the way. Seriously, who are you?"

"Depends who's asking," the teacher remarked, smirking. Doug frowned. He wasn't joking here.

"Well then he's asking," Doug retorted, pointing towards the kid sitting nearest to where he stood in the doorway. The man glanced at the kid, and directed his answer to him as opposed to Doug.

"I think Joe knows who I am," the teacher replied.

"Joseph, sir," the kid responded. The teacher looked surprised, and raised his eyebrows. "I don't like being called Joe." Doug snorted. Who wanted to be called _Joseph?_

"Sorry, Joseph," the teacher said, grinning. "I forgot. Anyway, young man standing in the doorway, what if _he_ was asking you who you were?"

"You mean this Joe kid?" Doug asked, purposely using the shorted version of his name.

"Joseph--"

"Yes," the teacher replied. "What if Joseph asked you who you were?"

Doug turned his head and actually looked at Joseph. He was absolutely scrawny, with his red hair carefully combed to the top of his head. The kid had a serious case of acne, but Doug couldn't bring himself to look past any of that. Doug noted, with sarcasm, that this kid actually hurt his eyes to look at.

"Well?"

"Well what?" Doug asked, turning to teacher.

"Aren't you going to introduce yourself to m-- Joseph?" the teacher asked, an eyebrow raised. Doug shrugged, then shook his head. The teacher was starting to look rather irritable. Doug smiled in spite of himself. "Why not?"

"He should know who I am," Doug stated plainly. The truth was, no one in this school-- except maybe that fat secretary-- should know who he was. Without Tom, there had been no one to scream "THE McQUAID BROTHERS!" with when he entered the school. He figured that he would, additionally, look rather foolish screaming "THE McQUAID BROTHER!" to no one in specific, anyway. Thus why it was perfectly acceptable for this Joseph not to know who he was. Still, he was enjoying his little game with this teacher.

"What if she asked you?" the teacher asked, pointing to what was presumably another a student.

Without missing a beat, Doug promptly replied, "She should know who I am too," without even looking at her. He paused for a moment, as the teacher stared at him with his arms now crossed over his chest. This was far too much fun. "Even you should know who I am."

A few people began to find this amusing, as a few students who were sitting in the back of the class snorted. The teacher hesitated. "But I don't."

"I noticed."

"So what if I told you who I was first?" the teacher asked, trying to compromise. "Would you tell me who you were then?"

Doug stared outside of the classroom window, pretending like this question required lots of thinking over. "Yes," he finally answered.

"Alright then," the man replied, a smile playing at his lips. Obviously, he seemed to be rather proud of the fact he had finally-- almost-- gotten Doug to reveal who he was. "My name's Mr. Anderson." The tall man reached out his hand towards Doug, who was staring at him expectantly. Doug returned the same exact stare, ignoring the recently dubbed Mr. Anderson's hand. Finally, Mr. Anderson seemed to catch onto what Doug was expecting. "And you might be...?"

"Doug," he told him sullenly. "Doug _McQuaid_." Only, this time, the surname was not said in expectance that Mr. Anderson or the rest of the kids would know who he was. The surname was emphasized simply for the fact that it actually did cause pain. Doug felt like an incomplete McQuaid without Tom. Kind of like he was missing an arm or something. Perhaps a leg would be more suiting; it was hard to stand as a lone McQuaid brother.

"Doug McQuaid?" Mr. Anderson repeated, looking obviously surprised at Doug's sudden change of voice.

"Did I stutter?" Doug asked, blinking up at the teacher. A mind in the back of his head urged him to call Mr. Anderson an imbecile, but he had a strange, overwhelming impulse that it would not be wise to do so. "I said that was my name, didn't I?"

"Yeah, sorry," Mr. Anderson replied. Turning to look at his class, which Doug would soon be part of as soon as he sat down. "I should've figured; they don't just send new students in here without telling me. Anyway, you can take the seat in the back. Next to Hector. Hector, raise your hand, so Doug can know which one you are."

No Hector raised his hand, and Doug was half-surprised that Mr. Anderson didn't seem at all fazed by the fact that he hadn't answer. "Hector? I'm looking at you directly, now could you please raise your hand?"

"Mr. A," a boy from the back of the classroom said, a hat on top of his head full of dark brown hair, "didn't you forget? We don't have a Hector in this class."

Mr. Anderson sighed. "Benedict? Please raise your hand."

"Warmer," the boy in the back said in an undertone.

"_Ben?_" Mr. Anderson replied, and a group of three boys burst out laughing as if it had been the funniest thing they had ever seen. However, one kid did raise his hand, and judging by the empty seat next to him, it must have been the originally called-on Hector. Doug automatically made his way towards him, his hands buried deep in his pockets.

"You got it, Mr. A!" the one who Doug figured was Ben exclaimed. Mr. Anderson looked utterly non-plussed, and turned back to the blackboard to continue whatever lesson he had been teaching before being interrupted.

"Blaine, while I'm speaking to you, take off your hat." Blaine laughed again, but kept his hat on his head. Doug's eyes flickered between the dubbed Blaine and Ben before realizing that these two had both been listed as suspects. Already, this job seemed a little bit _too_ easy.


End file.
